For A Little While
by Furlix60
Summary: A scene delving into a relationship much like a father to a son between two characters shared, if only, for a little while.


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_"Rise now, Meriadoc, esquire of Rohan of the household of Meduseld! Take your sword and bear it unto good fortune!_

_"As a father you shall be to me!"_

_"For a little while."_

In silence Merry sat, a pipe now lit held in his hand, though he had not braced himself to bring it to his lips. He stared blankly at the foot of his cot, the white sheets expanding flatly long beyond his short feet until the edge plummeted the silks to the stone floor, which Merry was too short to peer over and count tiles of. Not that had his mind not been wandering from memory to memory he would have done that, by any means.

A little trail of smoke escaped the freshly lit pipe, and this single trail hovered before Merry's eyes. Stirred and startled, he hastily plunged the pipe tip into his mouth, taking a deep breath and inhaling the wondrous scent and taste of the pipe-weed. Too big an inhale, for he immediately started in a fit of coughing, drawing the pipe away as puffs of smoke, caught in his lungs, was pushed forcefully by his sharp intakes of breaths to let clear air replace it. After regaining himself, he slowly, and more cautiously, lifted the pipe once more to his parched lips to try yet again. This time, the inhale was perfect and as he exhaled a long trail of silver smoke funneled from his lips, fading quickly and spreading into unidentifiable shapes. His lip corner twitched almost to produce a smile; for a moment he swore one wisp looked like a horse.

_"Farewell master Holbytla. My body is broken. I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset! "_

_"Forgive me, lord, if I have broken your command, and yet have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting!"_

_"Grieve not! It is forgiven! Great heart will not be denied. Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herblore."_

No one was around. The captains had long since left to perhaps perform their final act in the battle of the black gates, and the healers had already waited on him earlier this morning. It was sunset now, and Merry was quite alone. Strider was gone. Legolas and Gimli, both were gone. Eomer, along with all the other captains and leaders of the Rohirrim, such as Elfhelm, were gone. Pippin was gone, and this stung the most as Merry recalled it. Until he remembered another sour thought.

King Théoden was gone.

Merry choked suddenly at this, though it was not from the pipe for as his mind faltered into deeper thought he'd nearly forgotten of the pipe and had not touched it in quite a few moments. He thought he was strong enough to bare the memory of the late king, but quickly realized he was wrong and instead tried to summon up a happier thought, or a thought that caused less pain.

The Lady Eowyn, he knew, was with him. He could call on her if he'd wanted-but something about her would cause more pain as of recent, he thought bitterly. It pained him much, but she had only recently regained her strength enough to walk-he had spoken with her the other day, but so deep was her hurt and so apparent was her sorrow that it pained him, for he knew not how to make her happy. No words of comfort could he muster to say that she would smile at. He had seen those eyes, the eyes of Dernhelm-the eyes of one who seeks death, he had thought at that first impression, and that impression had not wavered as of yet. Perhaps it had only deepened.

There was the Lord Faramir, Merry mused on. He did not know the man well, but not a day before his own meeting with Eowyn had he not indulged in the lord's odd request to speak with him. It had begun quite civil, Merry noted. His own nerves and the awkwardness of the beckoning was eased slightly as Faramir spoke of his own acquaintances with hobbits-this had lightened Merry, if only for a moment, for the memory of his friends who he could not help saddened him. Perhaps Faramir saw this, for he did not dwell on the subject long-they moved on to an array of topics, from hobbits to Gondor's history, and finally they settled on the Lady Eowyn herself. This topic they spoke long of, for Faramir was much interested in what ailed the lady. Merry did not mind speaking of the woman-he had grown to hold her in a high respect. But, as it was with speaking of his friends and really anything of Hobbiton, Merry soon grew weary and saddened, for once again his mind had dwelled on the fact that no matter how he regarded Eowyn as such a loving and beautiful thing, she would not smile and she was fading, much like the light of the world in this dark hour. Soon, he thought, she would be overcome with grief, and she would pass, just like they all would when the assault failed and the shadow spread, strengthening over all the lands.

Merry suddenly jolted; reminded of his pipe that he had, once again, neglected and he lifted it once more for another go at the weed.

No, he did not require, nor want, company for today. Today, as the healers hastened from his room, he swore today would be set aside for only one man, who would hold the attention of Merry above all others. He smiled slightly. His window, much like the Lady Eowyn's, did not face east, and for that he was almost glad. It faced North, or South (Merry didn't really know, nor care-he dwelt little on the question of which direction his window faced) for he saw neither the sun as it set nor rose. A cool breeze blew in-too cold for his liking, but he did not swift so much as a finger twitch to move the sheets further covering himself. He let the air sting about his face as he watched a darkened sky with no sun to light his view.

Today, he thought of Théoden.

"For a little while.." He whispered, a mere mutter under his breath as for the third time he inhaled the smoke. Then he closed his eyes, recalling upon the memory of the promise he had made the king. He shifted slightly, raising his chin and straightening his back as one would when in the presence of the king.

"A Hobbit," he began, in a voice booming with charm and hospitality, "Is most proud of the gold that is the South-Farthing!" His lips tugged once again on a smile, and this time he allowed it. "It is the finest weed the North has to offer, and I've yet to find anything in either the South, the West or the East to rival it! In fact," He said, a little louder and a little braver, "I'd reckon it's positively the best herb in the whole West half of this world! Surely nothing in the East could rival it!" He even allotted himself to chuckle at such a claim. Proudly, he took another whiff at his pipe.

"Of course, I do believe this weed was not originated in Hobbiton. Rather, the Bree-landers, who mind you claim to be the first in everything, though," Merry said, side-tracking himself, "I do believe this time they may be right-you see, they-"

Merry continued for quite a while, ranting on about the beginnings of his herblore, until he somehow wandered off the topic point onto a story of himself and Pippin, so enchanted by the weed, that they even snuck once into a store house to get a few more whiffs of the stuff.

This, in an un-Hobbit-like fashion, made Merry quiet as the thought of Pippin, the bubbly youth that he was, daunted into Merry's thoughts, and slowly Merry's smile faded.

Pippin was another friend.

Another friend that would be lost by this war.

Merry's smile had vanished, replaced by a heavy scowl of a frown.

"I'm sorry..." He mumbled, his eyes falling back to the foot of the bed and his chest sinking a little lower as he backed further into the pillow he had propped himself against. "It seems," he faltered, a slow knot forming in his throat, "That my knowledge isn't as extensive of herblore as I'd hope. I do plan to fix that one day," He muttered, which surely would have cracked a smile on any soul as a true example of a hobbit's unquestionable curiosity, but the stone expression of the hobbit's face would just as well pierce any heart to still their laugh.

"I can, however," He continued, speaking to no one and yet one of all importance, "Indulge you on a topic you may enjoy. Hobbits pride in their heritage almost as much as their fine weed, and that I do know a great deal about. Why, the Brandybuck library is as extensive as a hobbit library, other than perhaps Mr. Bilbo's, and goes back generations on Brandybucks, Tooks, Boffins, Boffers, Bolgers, Cottons, Chubbs, Goodbodies, Proudfoots-"

Merry once again rolled on, this time extending late into the afternoon as he got carried away with retellings of long gone Hobbits and their accomplishments, though little ever was more worthy than say starting a farm here or growing a fine crop there. He spoke of the Old Took, which alone took him through nearly half his pipe-weed, and then to the more recent gossip, or what had been when he'd left.

"-Fatty Bolger! Ha! What a tale he'll be in for when we-" He stopped himself, his heart now lurching as he found he could not speak the words 'return home'. He gulped, inhaling a sniff of pipe-weed quickly before blurting out, "And what a sister he had! Aye, Estella! She was pretty last I saw, though so were many ladies when we left! Who knows? Perhaps some grew while we've been away-why, for all I know, Lobelia may have improved on her charm as of late!" Merry laughed heartily at that, but only for a moment-the rest of the laugh seemed short and sharp, forced like he was trying to keep himself in high spirits. He grew silent for a long time and smoked in solemn, unable to muster words to speak.

"I'm sorry," He finally spoke, "That I could not be of better company. I do say, as odd as you'll find, that I'm speechless. I'm a poor example for a hobbit if I cannot keep my guest entertained for more than a mere hour or so." It had been much longer than a mere hour or so.

"I can't think of anything else to add to my extensive knowledge of the pipe, nor anymore stories passed from generation to generation of the fathers of the Brandybuck estate. I can't even remember a song," At this few tears welled into Merry's eyes and the knot in his throat that had escaped his mind for a while now seemed to return, in full strength, blocking his voice as it cracked hoarsely.

"I cannot remember any tales or songs to praise you with, my lord!" His voice had risen and his eyes puffed and swelled.

"Forgive me, my L-lord! I'm a terrible host t-to not have prepared m-more to speak of! Forgive me, for I-it seems all I can do I-is...is weep! Forgive me!"

At this he broke down, hysterically crying and wailing as the pipe dropped from his hand, which instantly rose to cover his face in shame as he squirmed into a position, hunching his back and shoulders over his knees that he'd drawn into his chest. Ashes fell across the white sheets, staining them with their grey dust, yet no embers warmed the touch or lit fire, for they had long since gone out.

"And still I can only weep at our parting!" He burst.

_"Farewell master Holbytla,"_

"I am no such worthy to be praised as such, my lord!" Merry cried, as the charming voice wafted in and out of his memory.

_"My body is broken."_

"And I could do nothing but weep at your side!"

_"I go to my fathers."_

"Why not stay? Why not go to your people! The people that love you! I loved you!"

_"And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed."_

"Like a father you were to me!"

_"I felled the black serpent."_

"A father!"

_"A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset! "_

"How fair that sunset? For I shall not see it with your presence gone from this accursed earth! The shadow grows and engulfs this world! A Golden sunset, you speak of? How I wish to look upon that same sunset, to be by your side! A father, I called you! You, so noble a sir, to look upon such a hobbit, a mere child in your eyes!"

Tears stained the sheets as they freely fell from Merry's chin, a constant flow dabbing itself on the white silk as his fist landed beside him.

"Too soon you parted-never have I looked so highly upon a man! Why did shadow claim you so soon?"

_"Grieve not!"_

"How can I not, my lord?"

_"It is forgiven! Great heart will not be denied."_

"No greater heart than yours shall walk-I am but a coward-luggage! I could not protect you, nor serve you any better than I swore I would!"

_"Live now in blessedness;"_

"Curse this world!"

_"And when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me!"_

"Why imagine? You should have been here beside me, my lord! My lord.."

Merry crumpled, shivering and revolting as he wailed louder, sending several maids who were nearby into shock. But none approached his courters-none dared to disturb the healing process.

_"For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herblore."_

At this, Merry did not reply. In a swift movement he lifted the pipe form his side and thrust it across the room. The wood clanked against the wall and fell, rolling a little on it's side on the cold, stone floor. Merry wept for some time, well into the cover of the night before he composed himself enough to slip from his bed and retrieve the pipe, coddling it and cuddling it as though it were a child who hand fallen and the parent had raced to ease it's discomfort.

It was hours alter, still under the cover of night, when Merry lit the pipe once more. The embers glowed on his tear stricken face, his eyes swollen and too dry to cry further. All was still and quiet that night, yet Merry felt sleep would never come to him.

_"Rise now, Meriadoc,"_

Merry did not stir.

_"Esquire of Rohan of the household of Meduseld!"_

Merry coughed suddenly, in taking too quickly on that inhale, and as he cleared his throat, the voice rang throughout his ears, melodious and proud.

_"Take your sword and bear it unto good fortune!"_

Ill fortune, Merry thought. What good is a sword that cannot protect those whom the wielder loves?

_"As a father you shall be to me!"_

At this memory, Merry froze. The pipe lay still, hovering beside his lips as the words repeated themselves in his mind.

_"As a father you shall be to me!"_

Merry had a father-a kind man, the Master of Brandybuck was. As good as a hobbit could ask. But the late king..

_"For a little while."_

"Too short," Merry spat as an array of all emotions roused in him. Anger that this father figure had left so soon, never to fulfill his promise. Sorrow that never again would Merry look upon the man's living face and be warmed by his kingly smile. Joy that he had known the man, but most of all regret and grief and bewilderment that he himself could not do more for this man. This man who he claimed was to be 'a father to him'.

"You never kept your promise," Merry bitterly announced to the air about him.

"The halls of Meduseld, you said, we'd ride in together to! I would behold their magnificence, and then I would smite you with tales of the Shire and of my knowledge of the weed!"

Merry laughed.

"I do not doubt you can hear me now-I only wish I'd have seen your face, bewildered at amazement on such a foreign land! And behold! Never did you try this unearthly gift, this pipe-weed, with me as you said!"

"As you promised," he muttered in a low voice.

"I cannot serve you any longer, m-my lord," Merry said, and he felt the knot return as he stiffened and rose his chest proudly.

"But you died for your country-for Rohan-and no esquire of the Great King Théoden's would I be if I did not honor that value! I will serve Rohan yet-I will not let your death be of vain. I cannot lead a country-I cannot even protect a single man. But I can swear my allegiance to the land we both have come to love, and if I cannot do it by your side then I shall in your memory! I am Meriadoc-"

_"Rise now, Meriadoc,"_

"Esquire of Rohan of the household of Meduseld!"

Their voices spoke in sync now.

_"Take your sword and bear it unto good fortune! _And I do plan to do so, sir."

_"As a father you shall be to me!"_

"For a little while," Merry whispered.

_"Théoden king, Théoden king! Farewell! As a father you were like to me, for a little while! Farewell!"_

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A/N: UWAH! I haven't submitted anything in forever T_T And what do I do? I plunge into new terrioty! I've never submitted a LOTR fanfic, n I think it shows lol-Personally, this spawned because I recently re-read the series and fell back in lvoe with it all over again-and I really once again admired the relationship between Merry and Theoden! Their quotes of 'for a little while' brought me to tears in their continuity, and when I delved into LOTR fanfiction, I was disappointed no one had done anything catagorized under these two characters (If there is a story out there that explores these two, and I have'nt found it yet, you'd be very kind to direct me to it thank you! And I'll apologize for I know I can't be the first to write on this subject!) I'm not particularly happy with this, but I'm satisfied-Personally, I don't like my one shots unless I'm balling in tears by the end! (T_T) I did tear up slightly, and I really do hope I managed to touch the few readers of this oneshot! That might be asking a bit much, but I just really like these two characters and all! Well, I hope I portrayed them alright-really, only Merry is ever present, so really I hope I portrayed Merry alright! I'd love a review and I accept flames-I know this sure will deserve some, especially with my inexperience written clear as every other word in this fic! So, please, R&R! :3


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